


with autumn closing in

by Nokomis



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 18:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: Out of all the possible repercussions of a successful heist, Clyde Logan definitely did not anticipate a relationship with Dayton White being the one that turned his life upside down.





	with autumn closing in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [specialrhino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialrhino/gifts).



“So by my reckoning, you owe me,” Dayton said.

“By my reckoning, I don’t have the slightest damn clue what you’re on about,” Clyde replied, wiping the counter.

Duck Tape had been doing steady business, but it was well past midnight on a Tuesday, and Dayton was the only one left. He’d been on the periphery of Clyde’s attention the entire time he’d been inside -- he wasn’t the usual clientele by a longshot, but he also wasn’t an asshole about it. Just sat there nursing his drink quietly at a booth in the corner as the locals drank and bitched their way through their evening.

Dayton leaned onto the counter, paying no mind to the fact that Clyde was trying to clean it. “For, you know.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, despite the fact that they were the only people in the bar. “The alibi.”

Clyde blinked at him a few times. “I don’t follow.”

“The Redneck Robberies?” Dayton made the name sound earnest and whimsical, every syllable carefully pronounced. “I said Max Chilblain was full of shit when he said he saw you at the racetrack.”

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re on about, as I was serving time at the Monroe County Penitentiary when that particular crime was committed.” Clyde had to stare down at the bar, focusing on wiping away the sticky remains of spilled drinks rather than the blatant lie he was telling to a man who saw him face-to-face under the speedway. Lying had to easily be the most uncomfortable part of pulling off a heist. 

“Yes, exactly,” Dayton said. There was a pause, and Clyde looked up from the scarred wood to see Dayton smiling at him brightly. “God, Max is such an asshole. I wish I had been the one to break his face.”

“Isn’t he your boss?” Clyde didn’t know a lot about Dayton White, beyond what everyone knew -- the tax troubles, losing his previous racing team, disappearing from the public eye before finally latching on with the To The Max team. Word had it that Max Chilblain was the only one who would touch Dayton with a ten-foot-pole, given how prickly Dayton was about endorsing his sponsors. 

“Not anymore,” Dayton said. The words were artificially bright. Clyde had educated himself on some matters financial of late, and he knew that tax problems of Dayton’s scope and measure didn’t just disappear. 

He wasn’t normally an intuitive man, but he had a feeling that Dayton’s appearance here was financially motivated.

“I’m not in a position to help anyone,” Clyde said cautiously. 

Dayton blinked a few times, and said, “I sold my Lambo, I’m not looking for money.”

Clyde had heard that line before. Well, half of that line before. He focused on carefully lining up the glasses behind the bar, checking for spots.

Finally Dayton said, “I’m not close to many people. My life coach asked when the last time I felt pure joy, and that was when I watched you punch Max Chilblain. He said I should seek out that feeling again, and since I can’t see Max get punched again, I thought that the closest I could get was to talk to you.” 

“That’s so stupid,” Clyde said. 

Dayton swirled his glass, watching the last dregs splash around in the bottom. “Yeah, well, here I am.”

Clyde stared at him for a long moment, figured what the hell, and finally said, “I don’t have many friends either, I’m sure you’re shocked to hear.”

Dayton looked like he was waiting for Clyde to finish that statement with something hateful, which was a little insulting. Did he proposition Clyde for friendship assuming he would shoot him down? Clyde would do no such thing. Logans might be cursed but they were the honorable sort. “I suppose we could give it a try.”

Dayton nodded and raised his empty glass at Clyde.

*

Things continued pretty normally in Clyde’s life after Dayton’s proposition of friendship. He poured drinks for a paycheck -- he might have a pile of cash squirreled away, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let on that he had it. A new prosthetic hand was a splurge that was necessary; otherwise he kept to his normal lifestyle, with only a few upgrades here and there. Mostly just having enough money that he didn’t have to worry about money made his life infinitely better.

Dayton, true to his word, wasn’t snooping around after the missing millions. He came by the bar, fastidiously nursing at a light beer at the bar while providing a horrified commentary about the calorie content of the drinks that Clyde served. 

Eventually Clyde had to take him aside and remind him that only one of the two of them got to earn a living by driving in circles really fast, and running off the customers wasn’t helpful.

Dayton gave him a look that clearly implied that Clyde had infinitely less need of earning an honest living than Dayton himself did, but Clyde chose to ignore it. He was quickly learning that choosing to ignore things was the key to maintaining this particular friendship.

Other things he chose to ignore included Dayton’s suggestions as to how to improve his diet and lifestyle, how Dayton would suddenly get up and jog in place mid-conversation if he felt his heartrate wasn’t where it needed to be, and the way electricity had sparkled under his skin when Dayton had brushed his hand reaching for a bottle.

One day Clyde did the day shift, and Dayton pulled into the lot as Clyde was heading out. He waved him over, explaining that he wasn’t about to spend any spare moment in that bar that he wasn’t getting paid for, and somehow Dayton invited himself over to Clyde’s.

It was a mistake from the second Dayton walked through his door. Clyde didn’t mind his house under normal circumstances -- it had sturdy walls, the roof didn’t leak, and he’d gotten the AC fixed. But Dayton looked around once, and Clyde noticed, as if for the first time, that nothing in his home matched, most of it was worn down, and anywhere that Dayton might sit would somehow clash with him.

Dayton had stood out in the bar, but here… here, he was a Ferrari in a thrift store parking lot. 

Clyde gestured towards his couch, covered as it was with the afghan his Great-Aunt Lynn had crocheted, and Dayton looked at it closely before sitting down at the very edge.

“Don’t worry, the cigarette burns have been there since before that blanket was finished,” Clyde said, nervousness making his mouth run. “Great-Aunt Lynn smoked like a freight train.”

For reasons that Clyde didn’t care to examine to closely, it seemed important for him to let Dayton know it wasn’t his bad habit.

It seemed to work, too. Dayton relaxed enough to accept Clyde’s offer of sunflower seeds -- the healthiest snack that he owned -- though Clyde didn’t let him choose the movie. A man had to have limits. 

He sat so that his remaining hand was on Dayton’s side, and a few times their hands brushed reaching for sunflower seeds. The electricity never faded; Clyde felt like he was back in middle school.

He was totally screwed.

*

Mellie started hanging around suspiciously more as soon as she found out that Dayton White was visiting Clyde regularly. 

She always greeted him with a sunny smile and a, “Why hello there!” Clyde would scowl and retreat to the kitchen for beer, not wanting to see Dayton fall victim to Mellie’s considerable charm. 

By the time he made it back to the living room, Mellie would have Dayton cornered, talking about the benefits and drawbacks of a double-shift or what he thought about the latest restrictor plate rule. 

Dayton usually looked relieved to see Clyde. Clyde wasn’t sure if it was because of the beer, or because Clyde could usually get Mellie to stop pestering Dayton about letting her drive his racecar, or if it was because of Clyde himself.

He knew which one he hoped for.

It was on the fourth such occasion, when Mellie had worn her favorite cut-off shorts and had draped one leg over Dayton’s, that Clyde realized that Dayton was gently trying to push Mellie’s leg off of his own. 

“Mellie, let the man be,” he said, making a ‘shoo’ gesture with his prosthetic. He loved the whirr it made when it moved. 

Dayton was _definitely_ relieved to be eased of the burden of Mellie’s leg. 

Mellie looked back and forth between them, said, “So that’s how it is, then.” She raised her eyebrow at Clyde, showing clearly that she wasn’t dropping this entirely, grabbed up a tube of Pringles and headed out the door.

Once they had heard the Nova roar to life, Dayton ran his hand through his hair. “I hope I didn’t offend your sister.”

“Nah, she’s hard to offend, our Mellie is,” Clyde said slowly. He wasn’t sure if he should broach the other topic or not.

Dayton said slowly, “How about you come to my house next week? I can make us a dinner you wouldn’t believe.”

Clyde was relatively sure that Dayton would starve if he spent another evening at Clyde’s house, as he refused to touch anything but the fancy veggie chips Clyde had bought in the Natural Food section of the Save-Mart, so he quickly agreed.

Dayton’s smile hit harder than moonshine.

*

“Cauliflower,” he hissed into the phone.

“Right now?” his brother said, sounding slightly put out.

Clyde leaned his head against the wall. “No, not cauliflower-cauliflower. Actual cauliflower. He’s trying to feed me pizza that is made out of cauliflower.”

Jimmy wasn’t laughing out loud, but he could still feel it through the phone. He glared at the wall, hoping that his brother could likewise sense it. “You knew what the man was like before you accepted his offer of a meal.”

“Yes, but I thought that he held enough common decency in his soul to not inflict his questionable personal choices on others!” 

“If he had common decency, he wouldn’t have asked you out.” His brother was openly laughing now. “Go, enjoy your cauliflower.”

Clyde hung up the phone a little more violently than he’d intended -- his new hand was a little tricky at times -- and glared into the mirror taking up most of the bathroom wall. He was still just Clyde Logan, too tall, too pale, and visibly uncomfortable. 

Mellie had told Jimmy all about the way she’d been kicked out of Clyde’s house, and the implications had been very clear. He’d felt nervous, but JImmy had taken it like he’d taken everything in his life -- in stride, with a chuckle and, a few days later, with a list of ten ways to not fuck things up. Clyde hadn’t found this particular list entirely helpful, given that most of it relied on Clyde speaking honestly about his emotions. 

He took a deep breath, and went back to dinner.

Well, tried to. Dayton’s house was preposterous. There were too many rooms that clearly had little to no use; Clyde wasn’t sure that Dayton himself could even know what they were all for. He opened three wrong doors before finding his way back to the breakfast nook, which Dayton had claimed was better for an intimate meal.

Clyde wished he’d focused more on intimate and less on the meal; the cauliflower-crust pizza was still sitting uneaten on the table, and Dayton was around the corner in a sitting area doing stretches that Clyde assumed was some sort of yoga. It made him look like an idiot. 

Clyde leaned against the doorframe and just watched as Dayton stretched his legs out, did strange breathing patterns, then twisted rapidly back and forth. If Clyde had any self-respect at all, he would leave.

Instead, he watched some more. Dayton’s lifestyle was as ridiculous as his house but Clyde did have to admit that it was paying off. He should definitely leave.

“You could join me, you know,” Dayton called.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Clyde answered.

“That is a lie and you know it,” Dayton said. “At least let me work on your shoulders. I can see the tension from here.”

Clyde doubted that having Dayton work on any part of him would ease his tension. Well, maybe one part, but he doubted that was in the cards. Clyde had never had much luck in that particular department.

He reluctantly folded himself onto the floor. He hadn’t been this aware of his limbs since his last big growth spurt as he tried to mimic Dayton’s pose, but found it too difficult. He settled for sprawling his legs out in front of him, sitting in front of the couch. Dayton moved up to the couch, bracketing Clyde’s shoulders with his knees as he began to knead Clyde’s back.

At first, Clyde was too tense to enjoy it, feeling his muscles stiffen under Dayton’s touch, but eventually he let his eyes close and leaned his cheek on his arm, letting the sensation of Dayton massaging his shoulders and rubbing his knuckles along Clyde’s back wash over him.

He could stay here forever. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Dayton said, which is when Clyde realized he’d spoken aloud. His cheeks flamed as he muttered something dismissive, trying to blow off his own emotions when he felt Dayton lean in and lightly kiss his nape.

Clyde’s eyes shot open, all the soft relaxation evaporating from his body immediately. He twisted around, catching Dayton’s nervous expression before he schooled it into something more aloof, not saying anything.

Clyde heard himself speaking, the words bypassing his brain completely. “Would you mind trying that again, only on the front?” 

Dayton looked surprised -- as though he’d somehow missed the fact that he’d asked Clyde out for dinner -- but leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth.

“Yeah, that was better,’ Clyde said as Dayton pulled away. “Totally worth that sad excuse for a pizza.”

“Clyde Logan, I have been suffering through the swill your folk consider beer for weeks,” Dayton said, affronted. “Eating a vegetable will not kill you.”

Clyde couldn’t help the smile that spread across his features. “You know that if we do this, Mellie’s going to find some way to get behind the wheel of your racecar.”

“She can _try_ ,” Dayton said, and kissed him again. 

Maybe sometimes Logans _could_ get lucky.


End file.
